


Death of the Author

by TellItToTheWolves



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Time, Fix-It, Healing, Love, M/M, Post-s15 finale, implied past sex work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:47:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28310382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TellItToTheWolves/pseuds/TellItToTheWolves
Summary: Apparently I can't even write a one-shot sex scene without it turning into a 7k slow burn. So... Merry Christmas?***"You are a good man, Dean," Cas whispers, his mouth pressed to Dean's heartbeat. "You are so beautiful and good and worthy."Dean can't take it."Cas," he says, and it comes out a plea, a prayer, begging. It's just his name, but it's full of the need for affirmation, for validation, for all the things Dean's not allowed to ask for. All the things he never received when he was younger, all the love and attention he doesn't deserve.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 18
Kudos: 207





	Death of the Author

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired in part by the superior fic "Third Person Viewing" by a_good_soldier https://archiveofourown.org/works/28138329/chapters/68946060?show_comments=true&view_full_work=false#comment_375653739 
> 
> Other credits at end of work because of slight spoilery bits.

The first time, after the Empty, after Jack brought Cas back, after the strangled “And I love you, dumbass,” after the absolute desperation and desolation of their first kiss against the wall of the bunker, after all of that, is so tortuously gentle. 

Dean’s heart is beating like he’s about to do battle, because this is _Cas, this is Cas, he’s doing this with Cas._ And Cas’ hands are so hesitant, his fingertips ghosting across Dean’s skin where his shirt rucks up at the back, his nose bumping awkwardly against Dean’s, the sound of their heavy breathing so loud in the utter stillness of Dean’s room. 

Dean’s hands are shaking. 

It’s a pure waiting game which one of them will break first, but it’s Cas who asks “Is this okay?” in a half-broken, guttural voice, lifting at the hem of Dean’s shirt. 

Dean nods, his own voice gruff. “Yeah. Yeah, go ahead.” 

Cas lifts the shirt over Dean’s head, and Dean is just relieved one of them has done it, has moved them further in this seemingly gravitational collapse of their crossing stars. 

_Supernova,_ he thinks disjointedly. _Nebula. Destruction turned creation._

Cas’ hands are still hesitant when they touch Dean’s chest. Dean closes his eyes, tips his head back, one arm still wrapped around Cas with his hand pressed flat at the small of his back. 

It’s… profound. 

The word pops into Dean’s head and he can’t help the snort of laughter. Cas’ hands still on his chest. 

“Am I doing something wrong?” 

“Hey, no, sorry, of course not, Cas. It’s just… It’s just nerves.” 

Cas’ eyes are as intense as ever. Dean has never really been able to look away from them, not when Cas is looking at him like this, like he can see every piece of Dean’s tarnished soul. And maybe he can. Dean’s never asked, because when it comes down to it, he doesn’t want to know. All that staring is probably how Sam caught on, though. 

“You’re nervous,” Cas says, and it’s more of a statement than a question. 

Dean sits down on the bed, self-conscious about being shirtless in front of a fully-clothed Cas, but Cas moves with him, standing with his shins pressed to Dean’s knees, weaving his fingers into Dean’s hair. 

“Well yeah.” Dean closes his eyes briefly, the touch of Cas’ fingers in his hair making him shiver. “Aren’t you?” 

Cas considers the question, tilting his head to the side slightly. “Yes. I suppose I am… nervous. But I… Well, you have much more experience in this than I do." 

Dean hesitantly puts his hands on the backs of Cas' thighs, the fabric of his dress pants thin beneath his fingers. "Not really, Cas. Not like this." 

Cas frowns. "With men, you mean." 

And that's… sort of true. There have been a couple, but sex with men was only ever a desperate thing, something Dean did at his lowest points. He'd hooked up with a guy for the first time, well, the first time he’d done it of his own free will anyway, in the years Sam was at college and he was alone and trainwrecked by his abandonment issues. He and Benny had been something more than friends in purgatory. And then with Crowley… it had never been just the two of them, there had always been other people involved, and anyway, Dean had been a demon so it hardly counted. 

But that isn't what Dean meant. 

"No, I… Well sort of. But I meant… Hell, Cas. It's us. It's you. It's… you're my best friend. I've never…" 

Cas strokes Dean's hair, and this is exactly it. This is the problem. Sex with men was always desperate, circumstantial, elicit. Sex with women was good and everything, but it mostly followed a script. Cassie and Lisa had both been a little different. He'd gotten to a place with Lisa where sometimes he could let himself be just a little soft with her. But even with Lisa, it wasn't _this._ It wasn't someone handling him gently, someone asking instead of taking, it wasn't someone who could have pinned Dean down with angelic strength choosing to caress him instead. 

It wasn't Cas. 

Cas' fingers trail along his jaw line until he's cupping Dean's face in his hand. 

"There is nothing you could do that will make me love you any less than I do right now," Cas says, matter of factly. "And certainly nothing pertaining to your body or what you might like to do with it this evening." 

Christ. 

"Cas…" 

"Would you like to lay down now?" 

Dean can't help smiling a little, the slight awkwardness in Cas' general way of being still kind of endearing. He likes the bluntness of it, the way he can't imagine Cas trying to trick him into anything, the open sincerity all laid out there in front of him on Cas' face. 

Dean nods and lets Cas press him gently into the mattress. After a minute of making out, during which Dean's brain is helpfully unable to think anything but _Cas, Cas, Cas,_ Dean lets go of Cas to sort of crawl backwards so that his feet aren't hanging off the bed. 

Cas follows him, straddles his hips, runs his hands fervently, reverently, down Dean's chest. Dean's never been fucking caressed like this, like Cas is reveling in just touching him. It's too much. It's… 

Dean gets up the courage to push his hand beneath Cas' dress shirt, sliding it up over his belly, feeling the trail of hair there. 

Cas gets the message and strips his jacket, tie, and shirt, tossing them on the floor. Dean thought Cas getting shirtless too would make him feel more on even footing, but he finds that sense of shameful vulnerability growing in his stomach as he stares at Cas' bare chest. There are scars there, even though this body is new. He touches them hesitantly, his heart hammering, remembering every time he'd lost Cas. 

Looking back, it's sort of hard to justify how long he pretended not to know what this was between them.

Cas runs his fingers along the insides of Dean's wrist, over his arms, tracing the shape of him. He leans in and kisses Dean's throat, his neck, beneath his ear, over his collarbone, down his chest. His fingers gently run along his shoulders, over his nipples, down his sides. 

Cas is taking Dean apart and putting him back together, piece by piece. 

"You are such a beautiful man," Cas whispers against his skin. With him, whispering always comes out as a rasp. "The most beautiful being I've ever met." 

_The most caring, loving man I will ever know._

Dean shivers beneath his hands. It's ridiculous, they haven't even taken off their pants yet and Cas is already fracturing everything inside of him. Cas' mouth and fingers are warm as he kisses and strokes every inch of exposed skin. 

It's all Dean can do to hold on. He cups the back of Cas' neck or grips his shoulders, whatever's within reach as Cas moves over him. Cas makes his way down Dean's stomach and when he gets above his waistband he fucking licks him, running his tongue all the way along the line at the base of Dean's stomach. 

Dean lets out a noise that might be a whimper. 

Cas kisses his way back up Dean's stomach, kisses his nipples with too much tenderness, presses his whole face into Dean's chest, right above his heart. 

"You are a good man, Dean," Cas whispers, his mouth pressed to Dean's heartbeat. "You are so beautiful and good and worthy." 

Dean can't take it. 

"Cas," he says, and it comes out a plea, a prayer, begging. It's just his name, but it's full of the need for affirmation, for validation, for all the things Dean's not allowed to ask for. All the things he never received when he was younger, all the love and attention he doesn't deserve. 

Cas touches his face, stroking Dean's cheek, and it is all too soft. 

"What do you want, Dean?" 

Dean looks into Cas' eyes, their intensity burning through him. He wants… something he doesn't know how to put into words. 

"We can do whatever you'd like, Cas." 

Cas can see through him. Dean watches it happen in real time, the slight tilt of his head, his eyebrows drawing together. 

Cas shakes his head. "That isn't what I asked." 

Dean's entire body is tingling with the ghost of Cas' fingers, the anticipation of his touch. He wants… 

Dean's not allowed to want things. Not since he was four years old and he carried Sammy out of their burning house. Dean, forty-one year old Dean, knows that at four years old, he was barely more than a baby himself. He didn't even know how to read yet, for Christ's sake. But none of that mattered. Sam came first, and dad came second, and then every second of his waking consciousness he was just fighting to protect other people. 

He couldn't want things like a home, like food and shelter, like love, because what was the point? 

His life, his whole life, was about other people. 

Dean wasn't allowed, didn't let himself, didn't deserve to want things. 

But Cas… 

"I…" Dean's mouth is dry. He clears his throat. "Just… treat me like I'm yours." 

It's possibly the most embarrassing thing he's ever said. It doesn't even mean anything. It's not… 

But Cas' breath hitches slightly and he nods. His hand moves to Dean's left shoulder and he fits his hand to the burn he left there so many years ago, his fingers splayed out along the lines of the scar. It seems absurd that this is the first time he's done this, like surely he's touched Dean there a hundred times since he first left his mark on him. 

Dean remembers Anna putting her hand there in the back of the Impala, fingers not quite matching up, but still, the touch of an angel on an angel's mark. 

Dean shivers again. 

"Do you want me to say that you're mine?" Cas asks, still low and gravelly. His hand trails along Dean's shoulder to his neck and Cas wraps it around Dean's throat. He doesn't apply pressure, he's not choking him, but it's possessive, and…

Dean's hips jerk involuntarily as Cas' fingers press lightly into his neck. 

"That I've wanted to make you mine since the moment I pulled you out of hell? That I'm yours, wholly and indefinitely?" Cas squeezes ever so slightly. It should feel like danger, like violence, but it feels like being claimed. And Dean wants that in a way that he will never be able to explain. 

"Cas," Dean says again, even though it's hard to talk against the pressure of Cas' hand. "Jesus. Yes." 

Cas removes his hand from Dean's throat and leans forward, mouth moving against the hollow of his ear, his warm breath tickling him there. 

"You're mine." 

Dean can't explain his body's reaction to those words, but there it is. Cas definitely notices. He sits up a little and he's smiling down at Dean - not smirking, not laughing at him, just… smiling at him with a joy that Dean's never seen in his face before. 

Cas is beyond beautiful.

Dean should tell him that. 

He should definitely tell him. 

He reaches up and tugs at Cas' belt instead, because it is frankly unfathomable that they are both still wearing pants. Cas rolls off the bed and stands so that he can slide his pants and boxers to the floor in one motion. 

And okay, if Cas can do it, so can Dean. He shimmies out of the rest of his clothes without bothering to get up and kicks them off the bed. He's cold without Cas on top of him, and for a moment they look at each other naked, and Dean can tell Cas is breathing harder than usual, and he, Dean, is about two seconds away from freaking out. He remembers the time Cas showed up on top of the Impala, naked and covered in bees, and he grins reflexively. Cas smiles at him, that same new smile full of joy, and comes back to the bed. 

Cas kneels between Dean's legs this time and Dean parts automatically for him, even though the feeling of their naked thighs pressing together is terrifying and electric. Cas runs his hands down Dean's thighs, then takes his left leg and pushes it up so the he can slide closer, pressing his chest against Dean's and kissing him on the mouth once more, even as his cock is sliding into the crook of Dean's inner thigh and Dean's is pressing up against the heat of Cas' hips. 

Dean lets Cas push his knee up to his chest. He's still pretty flexible for his forties. He wraps his other leg around Cas' hip, startling a sound out of him that… Yeah. This is going to break Dean. 

"I, um," Cas falters, pulling back and searching Dean's face. "Do you want…" 

"Yes," Dean says, maybe too quickly. He's always tried not to think too hard about this part. The whole top/bottom thing is a false dichotomy, and Dean knows, now at least, that his feelings about it are based in a bunch of heteronormative bullshit, and that power and control have very little to do with any one position, and that penetration isn't a factor of masculinity. He knows all of this, but he's never really internalized it. 

He wants everything from Cas. And right now, he wants this. 

"Alright. Are you sure?" Cas strokes his face again, his other hand braced on the mattress, holding himself up. 

Dean reaches up and takes Cas' face in both hands, kissing him, trying to convey without words that Cas is everything he wants, that even though it scares the shit out of him to be doing this with someone who knows the very depths of his soul, this is where he wants to be. 

"Yes," Dean repeats. He places one palm over Cas's heart, feeling it beat into his hand, and reaches down between them to stroke Cas. 

Cas shuts his eyes and breathes out a sigh that contains so much fulfilled longing it makes Dean's chest ache. 

The prep is clumsy, mostly because Dean's never really been able to relax, and a little bit because Cas is new to this, but Cas' tongue (which, _Jesus),_ and some lube later, Cas has one finger slowly, tortuously, pressed into him. Cas is obviously not in any hurry to take Dean out of his misery. He strokes Dean's chest, his thighs, runs his fingertips over his cock and balls, presses them into the protrusion of Dean's hip bones, gently thrusting with his hand, his eyes on Dean's face. 

Dean usually doesn't like guys to watch his face if they fuck him, usually has them bend him over so he can bury his face in the pillow or couch or floor. Especially when he was younger and it was someone he was doing because he had to, for money or favors or whatever. He had too many feelings about opening up like this for someone, too many hangups around the idea that this was an act of submission. 

But with Cas… so what? 

It's still uncomfortable the way Cas stares at him, the way the joy in his smile has turned to something like wonder as he presses inside of him, his eye's flickering to Dean's mouth as Dean bites his lip when the width of Cas' second joint pushes him open the first time. 

Cas kisses all over his body again, murmuring things into Dean's skin, most of which he hears. It's mostly English, but some of it is Enochian. 

"You are so lovely. Dean. Dean. It is such a privilege to touch you. To know you. To love you. You're mine, I promise. Mine. You are gorgeous. Radiant. Beautiful. Good. Worthy." 

Dean's first instinct is to hunch up against the onslaught, to push Cas away, to be cold and alone rather than listen to Cas' gravel voice just fucking pouring love out over him. It's too much. He doesn't get to have this, he shouldn't get to have this. 

His second instinct is to cry, but Christ, he's not going to start sobbing in the middle of their first time together. Not yet, anyway. 

Cas pushes a second finger in and Dean drops his head back into his pillow, fingers curling in his sheets, letting a breathless gasp escape him. 

He tries to relax. He can't really, but it doesn't hurt and he breathes into it. Cas, touching him inside and out. 

When Dean opens his eyes, Cas is still staring at his face and it's… Cas is looking at him like he's found Revelation. 

_And I saw another mighty angel coming down from heaven, wrapped in a cloud, with a rainbow over his head; his face like the sun…_

The way he touches Dean is almost worship. 

Dean can't help the noise he makes at the third finger and Cas stops, not pulling out but not moving either. 

"Is this okay? Do you want me to stop?" 

Dean covers his face with his arm for a second, just breathing. 

"Dean..." 

"It's okay. I'm okay." Dean lets his arm fall, touches Cas' shoulder, makes himself look into that stupid, handsome face. "It's just... been awhile." 

"You are quite tight," Cas says, and it's just matter of fact with him, but he moves his fingers while he says it and it makes everything in Dean's stomach warm. He swallows hard, thinking about where they're going with this, simultaneously trying not to think about it, even though that's ridiculous when Cas has three fingers thrusting into him. 

"Dean, we can stop at any time," Cas says. He pulls out and Dean swears involuntarily. Cas smiles. He pours more lube into his hand and then he's back and Dean doesn't even try to stop his whimper this time. 

"I don't want to stop," Dean mumbles. "Unless you…?" 

"No. I'm nowhere near done with you, provided you want to keep going." 

Dean is quite possibly going to die tonight. Oh well. He's died in worse ways. 

Cas takes his damn time. Dean half-heartedly thinks that maybe he should be doing more for him, but there is no way Dean can say the sorts of things Cas whispers into his skin and breathes into his hair. So he pushes his hips up in rhythm with Cas' hand, lets Cas' fingers sink deeper into him, kisses every part of Cas he can reach. Dean sucks the skin at the base of Cas' neck between his teeth, and Cas groans, his fingers curling inside of Dean, and oops. Everyone in the bunker is definitely going to notice _that_ tomorrow. 

"Sorry," Dean says automatically. "I should have asked. I wasn't thinking." 

Cas' fingers are still steadily, slowly, fucking him and it's driving Dean absolutely crazy, but he can't ask for more because Cas will make him say it, make him spell it out, and Dean just can't. 

"No, it's, I…" Cas is breathless too. The way he looks at Dean like this, like Dean is the most incredible, valuable thing on earth, makes Dean want to hide. Or maybe just wrap his legs tighter around Cas' hips. He's not sure which, to be honest. "It's fine. It felt… erotic." 

Dean laughs and kisses him, because what else can he do with that? 

Cas' mouth is so warm. He tastes familiar, like home, even though he has no right to. Dean wonders if they've done this in other worlds, other lifes. In some ways he knows that he and Cas have been orbiting around each other's gravity for an agonizingly long time, God, over a decade now. In some ways, they feel inevitable. But he remembers what Chuck said, too. 

_Do you know what every other version of you did after gripping him tight and raising from perdition?_

In other worlds, maybe they weren't even friends, let alone… this. 

It feels impossible now, now that Cas is pulling his hand slowly out and caressing Dean's thighs, saying "Dean, can I… Do you want to have me?" 

It feels unfair that there is a Dean out there who isn't breathless, whose body isn't seeped with warmth and a little terror, whose skin hasn't been washed in Cas' praise, with Cas' touch. 

But it's also true that Dean is who he is, that he screwed this up so many times over, that Cas is awkward and not great at picking up or understanding human emotion sometimes. They've had so many chances to break apart completely before now. They aren't like Dean's parents, matched by Heaven. They weren't destiny. They weren't part of the plan. 

And yet, despite all of it, Dean and Cas were a story fighting to be told. This, whatever this is, was never supposed to happen. It was a choice flying in the face of God, in spite of all odds. 

If all the other Castiels had never rebelled, never fallen, never given up everything for Dean - and Dean can, finally, admit that he knows it was for him and not for Sam or Bobby or even the world at large - then isn't this… isn't this half the story? Isn't their love the split in the road that brought them here? 

At the heart of it all, isn't it the family they chose that saved the world? 

Cas' fingers rub the inside of Dean's thighs, and Dean _wants._ He wants desperately, unreasonably, selfishly. He wants Cas to ruin him. 

"Yes, Cas. I… want you." 

It's so different than "I need you." 

Cas' joy and wonder is too big for his face. He pulls Dean's hips to him and Dean lets him press both his legs back, his ankles straining at Cas' shoulders. 

Dean is shaking. He's not trying to hide it anymore. 

Cas strokes him, his thumb rubbing the underside of Dean's cock, holding him lightly. Cas keeps his hand on him as he presses his own cock slowly into position, just pressing against the slick mess he's created, not pushing in yet. 

Cas rubbing against him like that is more than Dean can stand. 

"Cas, please," he says finally. "Please." 

Cas obliges. 

Dean bites his own arm because _fuck._ It's not so much the slight twinge of pain that passes through him. It's not exactly the pleasure either, although there's that. 

It's Cas. 

Cas, inside of him. Joined with him. Wet and slick and taking him all the way to the hilt. 

It's the knowledge that this is Cas pressed into him. Cas, who is going to come inside him. Cas, who is feeling Dean's deepest vulnerabilities beneath his hands as he just holds him like this. It's being open to him, being vulnerable, trusting Cas to see him like this, have him like this. 

"Dean," Cas breathes. Dean is relieved to see that he is overcome too. His mouth is open, his fingers digging into Dean's skin. He looks like one of those marble sculptures that were deemed too hot by the Catholic church in the renaissance and were removed to avoid feeding temptations. 

He looks like a fallen angel. 

So maybe he is being ruined a little by Dean too. 

"Yeah," Dean says, his voice breaking. "Yeah, I know." 

Cas mumbles something incoherent and buries his face in Dean's neck. He kisses him there, bites him, murmurs his name in a litany. He doesn't thrust, even though Dean can feel how hard he is, he just holds Dean to him, caressing him like before. 

"You feel incredible," Cas whispers into his ear. "I've never…" 

He sits back a little, pulling Dean's hips with him, moving just a little in and out before settling into a pulsing stillness again. 

Cas looks into Dean's eyes, holds him there with his frankly hungry expression the way he's holding him around his cock. 

"When I tried before, it felt nice, but it was all physicality. It was an action to an end. But this… you… I could stay like this with you all night. If this is all we ever had it would be the most pleasure I've ever been given. Thank you." 

"Dude, you can't…" Dean is torn between being absolutely driven out of his mind by the fact that Cas' dick has been inside of him for literal minutes and still they aren't really fucking, and affectionate exasperation. "You can't say _thank you_ during sex." 

"Why not?" Cas' genuine bewilderment is too endearing, and Dean kinda can't believe they are having this conversation when Dean is aching with him, wrapped around Cas and throbbing. 

"I don't know, you just can't." Dean realizes he also shouldn't call his sexual partner "dude", but it's not like Cas has noticed. 

"Okay… then I won't." 

"Okay." Dean tangles his fingers in Cas' hand. "You can… you can move if you want to." 

Cas nods, looking Dean over, taking all of him in, and with anyone else it would make Dean want to hit them, it would make him feel like he was being weighed and judged. But it's Cas, and he can see in Cas' face that he is memorizing this moment, Dean splayed out beneath him for the first time. Dean watches Cas' face this time, watches his eyes move from Dean's mouth to his throat, to his left shoulder, to his chest, down across his stomach, the backs of his thighs with his legs still stretched up and thrown over Cas' shoulders. He watches Cas' eyes reach the place where his cock disappears inside him and he can feel him twitch. Dean can imagine what it looks like and it makes his own dick harder, which Dean wasn't sure was possible at this point. 

"I think I would like to take you slowly, if you don't mind," Cas says quietly, running his hands over Dean's stomach now. "But I have different physical limitations than you do, and if it's too much, if we need to stop, promise you'll tell me." 

"Fuck, Cas. Yes." Dean has to close his eyes for a second. He had imagined this, in the brief moments when he let his guard down enough to imagine it at all, as hot and heavy. This quiet slow thing is more intimate than he knows how to handle. 

Cas leans forward again, stretching Dean's legs enough that they ache in a good way, his fingers still tangled with Dean's, pressing that arm back above Dean's head, his free hand weaving once more into Dean's hair. Cas rolls his hips slowly, experimentally. He's still staring at Dean, taking in his every reaction. 

The slowness is excruciating. Dean brings his hips up to match Cas thrusts, and it doesn't speed him up but it does make Cas' hand clench in his hair, pulling a little. 

They spend minutes like this, a slow steady creak of the mattress - and Dean realizes suddenly that he's never had sex on this mattress before, he hasn't brought anyone home since they got an actual home - and their erratic breathing. Cas lets go of Dean's hair and slides his hand down to Dean's hip, slipping around to cup his ass. He traces patterns over Dean's skin, into his ass, his lower back, back to his stomach, around his nipples. It takes a few moments for Dean to recognize that the patterns have repeating shapes, and then to realize that its Enochian symbols. It's hard to tell without seeing them, and besides, Dean is not that great at Enochian, but he knows enough to partially translate. There are words of protection, of… not possession, exactly, but something like belonging, of bonds unbroken, of endless time, of something like the word beloved. 

Cas is just tracing these things across his skin. It's not a spell, they aren't fixed to him. But Dean feels it like something physical all the same. 

The word for what he wants, for what Cas is giving him with all of this attention, this love and affirmation, finally pops into his head and he can feel his face flush with a mixture of embarrassment and desire and some damn breaking inside him. 

Cas is _cherishing_ him. 

Dean has never felt anything like it before. Even without the angelic stamina, Cas' attention is making Dean lose his mind. Cas is so unabashedly absorbed in every response Dean has to his touch, so attentive to his every gasp and incoherent mumbled swear word. He says Dean's name low and breathless, says it like it is a holy thing. 

And Dean… he's never gone this slow before, certainly not with a man. It's kind of a problem. In his hangups about even liking this, never mind whether he wants it, he had some sort of twisted logic that went like this: If being on top was a show of dominance then it was submissive, emasculating, to bottom. But, if the sex was rough enough, and here Dean's reasoning performed a truly spectacular feat of irony, it kind of circled back around to being tough enough to take it. If it was rough, Dean didn't have time to think about what he was doing. It turned the whole thing into "just" fucking. It was never about making love. It was never pausing to feel what it was like to have another person be a physical part of him. It wasn't this gentleness, someone looking at him with love, someone wanting him for all that he was. It wasn't being cherished. 

Dean can't take the feeling inside his chest anymore and he has to look away from the intensity of Cas' eyes, tilting his face up to the ceiling and biting his lip to keep from crying. 

"Are you okay?" Cas slows the steady roll of his hips. "Do you want to stop?" 

Dean shakes his head, but he blinks and he can't stop a tear from spilling over. 

"Dean…" Cas wipes the tear away and rubs his thumb against Dean's cheek. "Tell me." 

"I…" There is no way in Heaven or Hell that Dean is going to get the words out to explain that Cas is loving him too deeply, that Dean can't help the feeling that he doesn't deserve this kind of love, that he's not good enough. He can recognize that feeling as something he's internalized, something he's carried for a long time, maybe always, and he maybe doesn't actively hate himself anymore, but he can't let go of the looming sense that he is being given something that he can't live up to. 

Instead, Dean says, "You're killing me." 

Cas blinks. "Am I hurting you? I can st-" 

"No," Dean half-laughs, half-groans. He wipes at his own face. "Cas, no one fucks like this. You're taking me apart going this slow." 

"Oh," Cas looks relieved. He strokes Dean's face. "I just like feeling you. I like watching the way you move with me, the sounds you make. It's mesmerizing." 

He kisses the place where he wiped the tear from. "I know there's more, but I could stay in every stage with you for hours. But if you would like to go faster, of course. I want to make you feel good." 

Dean runs his hands along Cas' shoulder blades. He pushes his fingers into Cas' hair. 

"It is good. It's too good. I… I need…" he flounders. 

Cas adjusts himself, pulls Dean's hips to him, and starts to thrust properly for the first time. Dean bites his own fist again to muffle something between a sob and Cas' name. 

He's so aware that it is Cas sliding in and out of him, Cas who's been stretching him for what feels like hours, finally taking him. Claiming him. The mattress bounces beneath them and Dean tries to match Cas' rhythm. The sounds Cas is making are unfair. 

Still, even being properly fucked, Dean's heart is exploding with the way Cas looks at him, like he really does think Dean is the most beautiful man in the world. 

"Is this good?" Cas gasps, his cock steadily, relentlessly, slamming into Dean. 

"Jesus Christ, yes, Cas, it's good." 

Cas' fingers rub Dean's nipples before his hand slips down and he squeezes Dean's balls. 

"Do you want it harder?" 

It shouldn't be the earnestness in Cas' voice, the desire to please, that breaks Dean, but it is. 

"Yes," Dean whispers, shutting his eyes. 

Cas picks up the pace and Dean cries out, not bothering to stifle the sound this time, his hips jerking, Cas' hand tight around his balls as his own cock thrusts in time with Cas'. 

It is way, way too much. After so much time being touched so gently, Cas taking control of him, pulling Dean's hips to him and fucking pounding him, absolutely merciless, is wave after wave of shock. 

"God, look at you," Cas murmurs as he's taking him apart. 

Dean is absolutely wrecked. He can feel the sweat all over his body, all over Cas' body, the heat and friction between them rubbing everywhere their bodies meet. He knows his hair is damp with sweat, his mouth open in a near constant whimper. He can only imagine what he looks like, his rim stretched and starting to burn around Cas' brutal thrusting, his own cock straining as Cas grips his balls a little too hard. Dean's going to come soon whether Cas touches his dick or not. 

Cas leans over him, bites Dean's neck, his ear. It's going to leave a mark and Dean doesn't care. He's been branded by Cas for so long. 

Cas' breath is warm in his ear. 

"Harder?" 

Dean makes a sort of "Hhhnng" sound. Cas is already absolutely, completely destroying him. But his cock throbs at the word, and he wants it, wants to know what it's like to have Cas as ruthless as he's been gentle, wants to be taken from one extreme limit to the other. He wants to break open. He wants Cas wanting him like this too. 

"Yes. Please. Yes." 

And it's… 

Cas holds Dean's legs spread by each ankle and his legs are trembling and useless, but Cas folds him in half, pushing him back far enough that his shaking muscles protest in spasms up the backs of his thighs. 

Dean doesn't know if it's inhuman, the speed and force that Cas is exerting on him, in him, now, but it's… 

Dean is caught in it for an indeterminable amount of time. It could have been minutes or hours or quite possibly several full nights. He loses all ability to form coherent thought, reaching such a fever pitch of pain and pleasure that he nearly blacks out. He clings on to the knowledge that it is _Cas, it's Cas, it's Cas_. 

He knows he's making noises, whimpering, moaning, mostly say "Fuck Cas Fuck Cas Cas Cas" in a helpless plea. 

Cas makes him hold his own legs back after a little while and Dean obeys, wrapping his arms around the backs of his knees, all of his limbs shaking now. 

With his hands free, Cas pulls Dean's hips to him with one and takes Dean's cock in his other. 

"Oh God, Cas, please." 

"Yes," Cas says. Dean is vaguely aware that his voice is broken too. "Anything you want, Dean. Just tell me." He hesitates a second and then, low, rasping, hesitant. "Beg for me, Dean. Pray to me." 

That's… unexpected. 

But then again, maybe it shouldn't be. Maybe Cas wants to feel holy and needed and cherished too. 

"Cas," Dean whispers, eyes closed. He hears Cas suck in a breath. He can feel him, his physical pulsing presence of course, but also the presence he sometimes feels in his prayers. "Please. H-have me. I'm so close. Please. Touch me." 

Cas' hand on him is gentler than the way he's thrusting, which means their rhythms are off, but Dean barely needs it. 

It just takes Cas saying "You can let go, Dean." The orgasm spills over him, makes him strain into Cas' hand, makes him clench around him in a way that spikes pain through his insides which only makes him arch his back more, jerking and shaking as the aftershocks move through him. 

Dean can't bite his wrist to stifle the noise because he's still holding his shaking legs, so all he can do is call out Cas' name, let it shudder out of him, crossing the line into prayer all on its own, making Cas shudder too. 

Dean comes down panting, aching, feeling cracked open and raw. Cas has slowed down, although his hips are still rolling forcefully against Dean. 

Cas' eyes are wide. He looks nearly as shattered as Dean feels. Honestly, Dean had no idea Cas could even look like that, and it's… 

"Should I… Should I stop?" Cas asks, hesitant again. He's still fully hard, still thrusting fervently into Dean. 

"No, not… not if you haven't… I want to make you…" 

"I don't mind," Cas says. "Watching your pleasure is pleasure enough, if you…" 

"Cas." Dean means to reach for him, realizes the predicament with his quaking, jelly legs, and pauses. "Maybe… can we change positions? I don't want you to stop, it's just, my legs are… I'm not nineteen anymore, you know?" 

He knows Cas doesn't know, because Cas was never nineteen, or at least not a human nineteen year old, but he nods. He lets Dean's legs down, lets them fall to either side of him. 

It hurts, when Cas pulls out too quickly. But then he's sitting back on his knees and pulling Dean into his lap, and… oh. 

Dean is pretty sore, and now that he's come down he feels it, but there's still pleasure in it too. He's never done this before either, never had someone hold him and fuck him like this. Cas holds him in his lap while Dean straddles him, Cas thrusting up and pushing Dean down to meet him. It's not exactly slow, not exactly gentle, but it feels sort of languid. 

Dean buries his face in Cas' neck. He forces himself not to wince, because he knows Cas will stop, and he needs this as much as Cas does. He wants to feel him. 

It takes a while. Minutes of Cas' hands on his ass, fingers stroking up his spine, Dean digging his fingernails into Cas' back, gasping through the pain and pleasure into Cas' ear, kissing him, biting his ear, sucking at the mark on his neck, making it redder and knowing it will fade to purple and brown by the morning. 

"You're beautiful, Cas," Dean finally manages to get out. It comes out rough. "I… You're really something." 

Cas' hands falter on his hips and he forces Dean's face out of the crook of his neck, pulls him back to kiss him. Cas' delight is surprised enough to make Dean feel a little guilty. 

Cas orgasms shortly after. He slides both arms up Dean's back and grips his hair, Dean's name on his lips as he comes inside him. 

It's all too much. Dean is dizzy with it. He stays in Cas' lap, Cas softening inside him while Cas kisses him, whispers more things that are both pleasure and pain. 

"So lovely. You are so lovely." 

Cas finally pulls out, and they stay wrapped around each other for a minute before Cas pushes Dean gently back onto the bed. He falls back with him, laying on his side facing Dean and wrapping his arms around him. Dean lets himself be pulled into Cas' chest, lets himself want this, wraps his own arms around Cas as tight as he can manage and presses his face into the sweat of his chest. Cas buries his own face in Dean's hair. 

The tears come for real then, and Dean can't stop them. All he can do is cling to Cas, letting the feeling of having been utterly undone wash over him in wave after wave. His legs are still shaking and he aches, but it's the feeling of being held, the way Cas had looked at him, the way his words and touch were so full of love, that makes him sob into Cas' chest. 

Dean doesn't know the last time he cried like this. 

He's not sure he's ever cried like this. 

"It's okay," Cas says. His large hands are so warm as they continue to caress him, like touching Dean is something beautiful and worthwhile on its own. "It's okay. You're okay. You can let go, Dean. Let go with me." 

And it's… 

That's what it is, Dean realizes as he shakes in Cas' arms. The same words that made him come. The letting go. Feeling safe enough to relax, safe enough to be vulnerable. 

Dean has never really felt safe. Not since he was four. Not since he stopped being a child, stopped wanting things. Wanting safety was absurd. Wanting to be loved, too. 

But he's cracked open now and he _wants._ God, he wants. 

"You are so loved," Cas whispers in that rasp of his. "Do you know that? You love so hard, so completely. It shines out of you, but it reflects back into you, too. You are loved in totality, loved to death and back." 

Dean snorts, even though it's wet and half sniffle. 

Cas strokes his hair. "Well. It's true. You are loved, Dean. And you are so deserving of that love. You always have been and you always will be. And I… I will be some small part of that love for as long you'll have me, and after too, in perpetuity." 

Dean breathes. 

He just breathes, and lets it wash over him like pain. 

He doesn't protest, doesn't tell Cas that he's not worthy, that he can't accept that kind of love. 

Cas kisses into his hair. 

It's so, so soft. 

It's not the first time Cas has put him back together. 

**Author's Note:**

> I borrowed the phrase "a story fighting to be told" from this post:  
> https://osointricate.tumblr.com/post/635778129368154112 
> 
> I have the lurking suspicion that I may have stolen "But he's cracked open now and he wants. God he wants" from someone, so if that was yours, please let me know and I'll credit you.


End file.
